


beside the point

by crownsandbirds



Series: it should be enough [1]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Blowjobs, Character Study, Codependency, Kissing, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, horror movies, kite is not cis, oof what else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 16:57:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17584718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownsandbirds/pseuds/crownsandbirds
Summary: "'Stop thinking about someone else while you're with me,' Ging mutters against their lips.'Stop thinking about leaving while you're here,' Kite answers."Kite tries and fails to understand.





	beside the point

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silverhedges](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverhedges/gifts).



> "You said if people wanted to change the world, they would. You said most people like it this way. Too bad for them, I say. I want something else. But you know how I am. I push too hard. I get ahead of myself. I keep ruining everything I touch by turning it into gold. But I’m learning how to be gentle. Save me save me love me love me there’s a hole in my bucket etcetera. They don’t know what they want but I give it to them anyway because why the hell not? Love, love, go ahead and have another plate of it, it doesn’t run out.
> 
> Of course, I wonder if they love me back, which is, really, besides the point."
> 
> (the long and short story of it - richard siken)

Kite really likes horror movies. 

At first, Ging doesn't understand why. "Paris I understand," he says, lifting his gaze from where he types away at his computer to narrow his eyes at the film on their small TV. They've been sharing a hotel room for a couple of weeks now, since they both have researches to carry in the nearby surroundings. It's intimate and domestic in a hazy sort of way, like a nonsensical dream from a summer nap. 

"He's fucked up," Ging continues. "He likes fucked up things."

"He smiles watching people die," Kite mutters. They don't like Pariston Hill. Don’t like his perfect suits, his blonde hair and its smell of vanilla, his plastic smiles, his sickly twitching fingers. Don’t like how he calls Kite by all the pet names in existence, how his touches are so much softer than Ging’s and make Kite lean into them every time. They know it stems from mutual jealousy. They both fight for Ging's fleeting attention, that oscillates between the two of them and sometimes is captured by something else entirely. They both gravitate around Ging, and Ging is an erratic comet spinning its way around a chaotic universe. It's unhealthy. They can't help it any more than they can help the sun rising every morning. 

Kite  _ hates _ it when Ging calls him Paris. It implies intimacy. 

"Like I said, Paris is a psycho. But you get terrified out of your body every single time. Why do you enjoy it?"

Kite shrugs. “I like feeling things.”

That gets Ging's attention. He frowns a bit in that charming little way he does when he doesn't understand something, turns off his computer and drags himself to lay down next to Kite in the tiny battered couch. “Okay.”

They watch the movie together. Kite gets scared, like they always do - they shift closer to Ging instinctively, and Ging wraps an arm around their shoulders, his other hand moving to soothingly grasp their thigh. 

Always soothing. 

Even when Kite wants him so bad their bones ache inside their body. 

There's a limit. There's a boundary, a barrier somewhere. Kite can never find it, locate it and break it down to pieces. They kiss on the bed, they make out on the couch, they touch and roll around on top of the blankets, but they never fuck. Never have, never will. Even when it gets heated, even when things escalate, Ging always takes a metaphorical step back, always slows down the kisses, slides his hands up instead of down. 

It's heavily frustrating. Kite would rather not think about how many times they had to excuse themselves to the bathroom to sit down on the tiles and use their fingers and feverish imagination for relief. 

Ging's hand moves slowly up and down their thigh. Kite is still terrified by the movie, but the gentle trailing of Ging's calloused palm on top of their skin is distracting in the only way that matters. 

Someone dies on the screen. Ging starts kissing down their neck. 

"You're not paying attention to the movie," Kite says airily. Ging moves their hair to the side to get access to their collarbone. 

"I'm scared. I'm trying to think about something else," he answers, hand on their thigh gripping tighter. 

Kite swallows dry. It's hard to keep themself from moving, from reacting. “Do you like the movie?”

Ging drags his lips on top of his jugular point. “I like you better.”

_ Liar. _ Kite wants to say.  _ Liar. If you liked me, you'd fuck me. _

It sounds crass and unfair in their head. They know they can't demand these things from Ging. But still.

Their thoughts are coming clipped and jagged. Ging takes their chin between two fingers to move their attention completely back to him.

“Look at me,” Ging whispers, and it sounds like  _ love me _ , sounds like  _ never love anyone but me. _

Kite lets him kiss them. As always, it's ever-compassing, intimate in a galactical way. It hurts how much Kite wants him.

“I missed you,” Ging confesses against their hair, silver strands catching in his spit-slick lips.

Kite doesn’t know how much of that is true. Doesn't want to know. “Stay, then. For longer this time.” 

Ging taught Kite everything, including how it felt to kiss and touch because you want to, not because someone else is making you. It's hard to part with him. Harder to be with him knowing he'll always leave.

He doesn't answer. Kite didn't expect him to.

The killer chases their newest victim on the screen. There's screaming. Ging tugs Kite closer and climbs on their lap and kisses them.

It's soft, gentle, the slide of lips against lips. Kite has heard somewhere before that Pariston doesn't know how to kiss without tongue. They idly think about that while Ging knocks their hat out of their head to wrap his fingers on their long, pretty hair.

"Stop thinking about someone else while you're with me," Ging mutters against their lips. 

"Stop thinking about leaving while you're here," Kite answers.

There's a beat of silence. In the movie, there's the distinct sound of knife tearing through flesh. Kite shivers, Ging holds him tighter, and they go back to comforting each other and pretending it's okay, just like this. 

-

Ging isn't in town anymore. Kite is.

He left at sunrise to go somewhere. Kite doesn’t know. They could probably figure it out if they put their mind to it; running after Ging, just a couple of steps behind, just a heartbeat too late, is second nature to them now. 

However, for the first time in a long while, they’re here for someone else.

They find Pariston Hill in his office, on the top floor of the Hunter Association building. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Pariston says, his usual plastic, attractive smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. It's the most convincing mask Kite has ever seen in a human being. “It’s been a while.”

Kite hums in lieu of a proper greeting, shuts the door behind themself. Pariston's office is fancy, every inch of it in extremely good taste, classy and expensive. Unlike the slightly outdated architecture and kind of clumsy decoration of the Association building, the vice-president's office is beautiful enough that Pariston looks perfectly at home in it and Kite feels incredibly unwelcome.

The place is as coldly attractive to the eye as the man himself; Pariston Hill is definitely one of the prettiest people Kite has ever seen, pretty in the way a snowstorm or a flash of lightning is pretty, in a deadly, painful way. It makes you want to cut your hand tracing his cheekbones. It makes you want to ruin your life for him.

Pariston moves from his tall, cushioned chair and stands in front of Kite, leaning against the desk. He wears red high heels that compliment his three-piece suit flawlessly and makes his legs look fantastic. He carries himself with the easy confidence of someone who is aware of their own charm. “What can I help you with?” 

Kite reaches behind to get their bag, takes out a file and holds it for Pariston to grab. "I need you to take a look at this. It's work stuff."

Pariston takes the file from their hands, stares at them over his reading glasses, his brown eyes beautiful and empty and wicked. The smile - disconcerting, unmoving - never leaves his face as he lowers his gaze and studies the documents for a few seconds before gently placing them on top of his desk. "Okay. I'll study it properly this afternoon and sign it for you."

Kite bows their head in thanks, but doesn't find the casual indifference in their feet necessary to leave after business is dealt with. They did have to get a signature for that file, but this is not what they came here for. 

Pariston's smile drags wider at the corners, sharp and cutting. Kite feverishly wonders if they could cut their mouth in those corners. "Did you need -  _ want _ \- my help with anything else, honey?"

His voice is drawled-out, sickly sweet, vicious in its flawless pleasantry and lack of accent. Kite doesn't know how to answer, so they don't. 

"I don't know where he is either," Pariston says, presses the heel of his shoe hard against the carpet for a second, a single point of tense pressure in his otherwise entirely relaxed posture. "He just said he was leaving."

"I know you don't," Kite bites out tersely.  _ If I don't know, why would you?  _ they want to say, but they know there are things Ging tells Pariston, things Ging does to him, that Kite won't ever be aware of. 

"Hmm." Pariston takes a careful step forward. Kite doesn't step back, as much as the animal instincts inside them scream for them to do so. "I see."

Kite wonders if Pariston will drag this out, force a confession out of them, manipulate the entire situation to work at his own psychotic pace. He could. Kite almost wishes he would, so they could have yet one more reason to hate him. 

Instead, he takes another step forward, then another. Lifts his hands and touches a strand of Kite's long hair, lets it fall back behind his shoulder. 

"It's okay," he whispers, mouth close to Kite's ear, warm breath caressing their skin. "Just relax. I'll take care of you."

Kite relaxes. Somewhere outside, it starts raining. 

Pariston kisses like he's lonely. His kisses are drawn-out and his hands are strong and his lips move with all the languid experience of someone who has done this often enough for it to be natural. 

_ Oh, _ Kite thinks.  _ He kisses soft.  _

They know it's not like this with Ging. They have seen the bruises in Ging's neck and the scratches down his back and shoulders and the angry red bites on the insides of his thighs often enough. They have seen the dangerous intensity in his normally indifferent hazel eyes. Ging and Pariston dance around each other with a peculiar type of rage and desire that can only come from two people who are just too aware of each other's existence. This is not what Kite wanted, not what they pictured when they took the elevator to the top floor of this building. They wanted depravity, or something; something rotten and mean, something to leave an awful taste in their mouth. As they're gently coaxed to drop to their knees and look up to Pariston above them, however, they only feel strangely comforted. 

Pariston is comforting them. His eyes are still vacant, his fingers still twitch where they take hold of Kite's hair, but he makes it easy to lean forward, to let themself be guided, molded into whatever fits best in the rain and this office and this strange mess. 

"Oh, baby," Pariston breathes out, his voice nearly catching on what almost sounds like an accent. He's so much quieter than Ging. "So pretty. So good. I can see why he likes you."

Kite closes their eyes. They can see Ging on the back of their eyelids, feel Pariston on top of their tongue, on the back of their throat. A single tear catches on their cheekbone. 

-

When Kite leaves his office, Pariston texts Ging the picture he managed to snap. 

It's a beautiful picture, if he says so himself. Kite is a beautiful person. Pariston is restless; he taps his glitter gel pen on top of the file they left behind. He can feel something dark bouncing around inside his mind, a little ball of evil. A glitch on the screen, background noise. He can feel his thoughts turning around and becoming wicked. 

He draws a little heart on the corner of a document. 

_ hope you're having a good day! <3  _ , the caption of the photo reads. 

He places his phone back on his desk, straightens his suit once more. 

-

Kite's phone buzzes inside their pocket as soon as they're turning the street to leave the Association building behind. 

_ what did u do _ , the grey bubble in the screen reads. 

Kite's heart beats hard against their ribcage. They turn the corner and lean back against a wall. Their throat is still sore.  _ You know _ , they text back. 

A few seconds later, Ging answers.  _ why? _

Kite doesn't think.  _ I was bored,  _ they say. 

_ I missed you, _ they mean.  _ I missed you and I hated him for having you for the weekend and I hated knowing the bruises you would get and the sex you would have and I needed to know how that felt. I just needed to know. I needed to know what that awful, awful man could give you and I couldn't. And I still don't know. I have a sore throat and shaky legs and I'm in the middle of a sidewalk all by myself and I don't know any more than I knew before.  _

It takes a couple of minutes for Ging to answer. When he does, it's short and clipped and indifferent.  _ okay _ , the bubble reads.  _ see u later _

Kite tells themself they won't run after him. They tell themself, not this time, not like this, not with the ghost touch of Pariston's fingers on their nape and the whispers of his voice in their ear. 

Something pulls at their spine. It's unnamed and too strong to fight. They turn on their heels and set after the only thing they've always wanted. 

**Author's Note:**

> ??????>?>


End file.
